


Knit Christmas

by Pulchratibi



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Marriage Proposal, Tags Contain Spoilers, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-06 13:15:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3135803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pulchratibi/pseuds/Pulchratibi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their first Christmas as a couple has surprises in store for both Molly and Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knit Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thestarlitrose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thestarlitrose/gifts).



> A (very belated) Christmas gift for thestarlitrose.
> 
> Many thanks to justmindy for beta'ing :D

As much as it pained his pride to admit it, Sherlock really did appreciate the tree Molly had insisted upon getting for the flat. _Their_ flat, he reminded himself. That patched his dignity rather nicely, he thought. He had been able to convince Molly to move into 221b after less than a year of dating; her independence was not something to be trifled with. Even after he let the walls of his heart crack enough to let his feelings for her cascade indelicately off his tongue, she was as stubborn as ever to not rely on anyone else for emotional security. Well, he couldn't blame her, really. He had toyed with her enough prior to the Fauxriarty incident that her own walls were nearly as thick as his.

 

Nevertheless, here they were, happily living together as a couple in love ought to.

 

The fir between the windows of the sitting room was sparsely decorated with strings of tinsel, some of Molly's own ornament collection, and a few baubles Mrs. Hudson had insisted they take. "Really, you two, I've never been able to hang them all and I've no use for so many! Time for them to get some good use." He noticed the small violin that had no doubt been purchased with him in mind, and a small, silver 'H' near the top of the tree; he should remember to ask Molly if it was hers or Mrs. Hudson's. No matter. The white lights blinked slowly and produced a calming glow that made him feel a bit warmer inside than he cared to admit.

Under the tree was a softly snoring and rather undignifiedly sprawled Toby. Under him was a large, quilted skirt made of festive reds and golds. ' _Family heirloom_ ' he decided. There were various small packages littered about the tree, and a suspiciously long and heavy present that had come from the Watsons. Molly had made him promise not to deduce any of the gifts, so he busied himself with perfecting the art of wrapping their gifts to everyone else. Despite keeping this promise, he did know the contents of at least three of the packages in Toby's newly acquired nest. Molly had been knitting up a storm during the last few weeks, and he had helped her pick out some yarn for a new scarf. He also knew that she was making a matching one, just to be cheeky, and giving it to herself for the holiday.

The third box was smaller, and deceptively oblong. A nice pen, no doubt. That's what he wanted her to think. It was, in the spirit of her own snarky self-present, addressed to him, and also from him. Inside, however, was a delicate, gold filigree band, with a ruby set between two small diamonds; his mother's ring. He hoped she would accept it, if not as the intended engagement ring, then at least as a sign of how much he would keep trying to deserve the love she now gave him so freely.

Soft footsteps on the stairs pulled Sherlock from his thoughts, and Molly stepped into the flat with a comical amount of snow on her hair. "Got the takeaway! Weather's picked up a bit."

"So I see. Want me to plate it for us?"

"No need. Why make more work for later? I intend to get to bed as early as possible." Molly removed her coat and toed off her boots, attempting to stay upright and failing.  
Sherlock caught her arms and looked down at her curiously.

"Hmm. Why? I thought you'd want to stay up and read with me, next to the fireplace."

"Normally, yes, but the sooner we get to bed, the sooner Father Christmas will come!" Her eyes lit up, and her face broke into a giggle.

"Very well. But I hate to be the bearer of bad news; don't expect many more presents than are already there."

"No, no, of course not. But I desperately want you to open yours and if we go to bed early, we can wake up even earlier." She lifted on to her toes and kissed his nose. Sherlock caught her lips in his for a soft kiss, trying to convey how much he appreciated her part in his life. Christmas had never been a truly happy time of year for him until now; she deserved to know that she was the reason he was so overwhelmed with sentiment. Blasted sentiment.

He stepped away, happy to see her smiling. Kissing by the tree was all well and good, but the curry was getting cold and he hadn't eaten all day. Food was necessary, especially if he wanted Molly unworried about his health.

They ate their dinner, Sherlock having stolen a bit more than his fair share from Molly's tin.  
She didn't seem to mind, but he saw that she was definitely tired. She'd had a long day of last-minute preparations, he knew. His Molly was more invested in this holiday than anyone he had ever met. Sherlock helped her to her feet and they got ready for bed. He hoped it would never cease to amaze him how absolutely wonderful this mundane routine was. Brushing teeth together, changing into pyjamas, trying to change out of pyjamas ("No, Sherlock, not tonight. Baby Jesus is watching!" He pouted, and Molly cackled more than he thought necessary), and snuggling close under the warmth of the duvet. Pure, blissful, normalcy.  
~~~~~  
Surprisingly, Molly was up before him on Christmas. An old, seasonal habit, he supposed, but given the delicious smells coming from the kitchen, not one he was keen to question. He pulled on slippers and a dressing gown, and stretched before pattering down the hall.

 

"Breakfast's ready, but we can eat whenever. It'll keep." Molly smiled at him as he reached for her mug of tea. Peppermint, honey, and cream. Not his favourite, but it wasn't actually for him. There was warm bacon on a plate, and scones had just come out of the oven. He decided then and there that every day should be Christmas, and proceeded to tell Molly just that with a heated kiss that left her breathless.

 

"Happy Christmas, Molly Hooper," he breathed against her lips.

 

"Happy Christmas, Sherlock Holmes."

 

The glance she gave toward the tree caused his sudden desires to be put on hold.

 

"Shall we?" He took her by the hand and led her to the tree. A few cushions had been removed from their chairs and placed in front of the presents, and Toby was loathe to be moved from his current position on one of them. He dug his claws into the fabric and gave a pitiful squawk as Molly gently lifted him.

 

"It's ok, Tobs. You can have the whole rest of the flat. But my bum is not resting on the cold floor just because you think you own the place." A last-ditch effort to stay attached to the pillow was thwarted by swift hands, and Molly sat down in his wake.

 

"Fur monster," Sherlock groused, but there was no malice behind it.

 

They sat and mused about what to open, before Sherlock decided on what he deemed the 'safe bets' first. Molly took the two cubes she had wrapped herself, kept one, and passed the second to Sherlock. Opening hers, she exclaimed theatrically, "A scarf! Why, however did you know, self?" A fit of giggles followed, and she cleared her throat. "Sorry. Really, I just needed practice before I made yours, and why would I let a perfectly good occasion go to waste?"

 

Sherlock 'hmm'ed a reply, and opened his own box, carefully tugging on the silver ribbon and trying his hardest not to tear the paper; a perfectionist, even when it came to unraveling such a non-mystery.

 

Inside the box was the expected knit neckwear, neatly folded and fluffed to fill the space. He ran a finger along the carefully stitched scarf. "It's beautiful, Molly! Thank you very much. I look forward to wearing it!" He smiled brightly at her; her skill had improved a bit after practicing on her own, it seemed.

 

"Oh, well, I'm glad! Just...do me a favour and make sure it's long enough? You've been out so much that I couldn't reference the other one. I've a few more skeins if I need to make another."

 

Nodding in assent, Sherlock took hold of the end and lifted it out of the package. Wrapping it gracefully around his neck, he looked to Molly for her approval. "Perfect, I think. What say--?" With the scarf still halfway off of him, he saw something else in the box. No-- four somethings.  
"M-Molly...?" Narrowed eyes peered at the box, and his eyebrows disappeared behind the errant curls that fell on his forehead. His face had hit "buffering" phase, trying to process exactly what was in front of him. He reached in and grasped the items, holding them up to get a closer look. Four tiny booties were now in his hands, a pair each in yellow and green, as he continued to stare in wonder at the small knit socks.

 

"Are...are you _pregnant_?"

 

" _We_ are, yes..."

 

"Molly--" His eyes stayed fixed on the booties.

 

"I went for my annual last week, remember? You know my cycles aren't regular, and she checked my IUD and it was gone. We did a test in the office."

 

He did not expect the wetness on his face, nor the slight hitch in his breath when he finally looked up at his Molly.

 

"It was positive, and given my history and age, she suggested an ultrasound then and there."

 

"There...there are two pairs."

 

"Pretty sure you can deduce why, Mr. Consulting Detective."

 

"You're pregnant--"

 

" _We're_ pregnant."

 

"--with...twins?"

 

"9 weeks along, they think. I have printouts, if you want to see..."

 

His eyes finally cleared enough to notice Molly's own cautious expression. As carefully as he could, he placed the booties back in the box. He got to his knees and reached past her and took his own present from under the tree and started to unwrap it.

 

"Aren't you going to say anything? Is this ok? Don't you have any questions? I kind of sprung this on you." She stood nervously, and Sherlock smirked at his fortune as he adjusted to sit on one knee.

 

The long velvet box was now opened towards him, and he reached to take the ring from it.  
"Oh, Molly Hooper, I have many things to say. I also have many questions, and will likely never stop asking them." He took her hands in his, trying to find the words necessary for such an important moment. "But the most important one I have is this: will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?"  
~~~~~  
John Watson would later swear up one side and down the other that he heard twin squeals of delight clear across London that Christmas morning. Mrs. Hudson would confirm his story, with a regretfully intimate knowledge of the source. This was, of course, before some rather muffled yelling, but no domestics appeared on the horizon. A bit later, after the ruckus died down, she would creep upstairs with a plate of biscuits and look into the sitting room of 221b. There, on the couch, lay her two favourite tenants, curled up together under a blanket and breathing heavily, clearly taking a much needed nap.

 

If she noticed the four tiny knitted additions to the Christmas tree, or the fiery red stone that graced a sleeping Molly's finger, she didn't give the slightest hint until they mentioned them to her the next day.


End file.
